Fortitude
by chocolatejet
Summary: A series of vignettes that tell the story of Gyda's life (AU in which she survives. Gyda/Athelstan in later parts). Part V: Gyda watches a fight.
1. Solace

**FORTITUDE**

 _by chocolatejet_

. . .

 _ **Part I: Solace**_

. . .

Gyda is mortified when it's Athelstan who finds her, huddled in a darkened corner of the goats' pen. She holds her breath as he comes to sit next to her, an attempt to stifle her sobs, but ends up hiccupping instead.

"Will you come back to the hall?" asks the priest after a spell. "Your parents are worried."

She doesn't believe him. Her father is too concerned with Princess Aslaug, and her mother is too concerned with her father.

Athelstan sighs softly at her reticence, and Gyda feels as though she's disappointed him. Her eyes sting with fresh tears.

"I do not know what to do," she says in a small, congested voice. "I wish…" _What?_ she wonders to herself. _You wish your father was not so selfish? You wish your mother was not so proud? You wish Aslaug had never come?_

"I know," says Athelstan quietly. He tugs her to his side, a hand smoothing over her hair, and she feels a flutter in her chest. Both gratitude and something else.

They sit that way for what feels like an age. So long that Gyda is almost asleep when Bjorn comes upon them.

"Gyda," says her brother sharply. "I've been looking everywhere for you." His gaze is steely, fixed on Athelstan as he speaks, and Gyda frowns at him as she stands.

"You did not look very hard." It's out before she can stop it. Bjorn's eyes briefly widen in surprise at her tone. She's been too soft-spoken for too long. A moment later, he's frowning right back.

"Come," he commands, and Gyda almost resists. She's not a dog.

"Go," says Athelstan, still sitting in the hay. "Listen to your brother."

She looks at him and he smiles back. A smile that doesn't reach his eyes that are dark and tumultuous like the sea in a storm.

Gyda nods though she'd rather stay with him. "Goodnight, Athelstan."

"Goodnight."

She climbs over the fence, then turns back. "And thank you."

He nods in acknowledgment before Bjorn drags her away, back to the hall where tension still thickens the air.


	2. Obedience

. . .

 _ **Part II: Obedience**_

. . .

"You wished to see me?" asks Gyda on entering Aslaug's private chamber – what had only days before been her _mother's_. But every single trace of Lagertha is already gone, from the items she'd left behind to her subtle sweet scent. New fabrics now drape the walls and furniture while the cloying aroma of burnt herbs fills the space.

Aslaug turns from gazing out a window. Her wide mouth forms an almost-smile, cat-like eyes perceptive to the point that Gyda finds she cannot meet them. She casts her own to the floor.

"Yes, Gyda. Come here, child."

Gyda complies, gaze remaining downcast until Aslaug's hand cups her chin, forcing her to look up. The princess's grip is gentle enough, yet Gyda feels the hint of steel behind it, and knows an attempt to extricate herself will be met with resistance.

For a long moment, Aslaug says nothing. Only looks at her with those unnerving eyes. Searching for something.

Finally, she smiles. A flash of white teeth in the gloom. "I would like us to be friends, Gyda."

Gyda swallows thickly. She thinks of her mother. The anguish etched on her face when she thought no-one was looking.

"I would like that, too," responds Gyda in what's barely more than a whisper. Her gut wrenches. She feels like a traitor.

Aslaug releases her chin, lowering the hand to her swollen belly. She caresses it, much as she had done in Lagertha's presence. Taunting. "Good. I would like your help when the time comes. Will you give it?"

Gyda suddenly knows what it is to be a cornered animal, trapped and afraid, but fights not to let her discomfort show. Instead, she bows her head. The picture of obedience.

"Of course."


	3. Friendship

. . .

 _ **Part III: Friendship**_

. . .

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that."

Athelstan feigns innocence at the comment, but does tear his eyes from Gyda's face, gazing down at his half-eaten stew instead.

"Like what?"

 _Like you are waiting for me to break_ , thinks Gyda with a faint twinge of annoyance. Outwardly, she only shrugs.

A moment of silence passes between them. Gyda idly stirs her stew, appetite long since gone. Finally, Athelstan clears his throat and speaks again.

"If you would like to speak of…" He hesitates, swallows. "Of what has happened these past weeks-"

"I thank you," interrupts Gyda quietly. Her eyes burn at the mere thought of relaying her feelings; her concerns. Voicing them will surely bring those tears to the fore, and she fears once she starts, she will never be able to stop. "But I would rather not."

Athelstan's hand engulfs her free one and squeezes. A comforting touch much like what Bjorn sometimes used to give her, when their parents fought bitterly and seemed unlikely ever to reconcile. Yet they always had. Until now.

"I promised your mother I would look out for you." Athelstan leans a little closer towards her, blue eyes glinting amber in the hall's firelight, his expression imploring.

Gyda feels a tightening in her chest – a curious mixture of distress and anger – and extricates herself from his grip. She doesn't look at him when she says: "If she was so worried, she should have taken me with her."

Gyda hears Athelstan sigh. "You know she thought you would be safer here in Kattegat. Where she and Bjorn have gone…" He pauses. "She can look after herself, as can your brother. But you…"

It's on the tip of Gyda's tongue to argue. To tell him she is not so helpless as he or her mother think. But though Lagertha has taught her some small ways in which to defend herself, she admits it would not be nearly enough in a true battle.

When Athelstan takes her hand again, Gyda doesn't resist. "Everyone here knows you as Gyda Ragnarsdottir. No one would dare harm you in any way. And consider your father. I don't think his spirit could have born it had you left as well."

Gyda's shoulders sag miserably. "It is so hard. Everything is so different now, and I miss them so much…" Her eyes sting again and she raises a kirtle sleeve to crossly wipe the offending moisture away.

"I know." His hand strays to her back, rubs it in soothing motions. "But remember you have friends here. Myself, and there is Siggy…" He chucks her chin, smiling, and Gyda smiles back, if weakly.

"Better?" he asks.

She sniffles and gives a faint nod. "A little."

"Good. Now eat your stew before it gets cold."


	4. Treasured

. . .

 ** _Part IV: Treasured_**

. . .

 _A/N1: I simply_ had _to include Ragnar's touching monologue from episode 2.01, because feels._

. . .

When Gyda senses someone lower themselves onto the sand beside her, she instantly thinks it is Athelstan despite the priest's recent uncanny ability of knowing when she requires solitude. Now is one of those times, and she turns her head to scold him but finds her father instead.

Ragnar glances at her with those azure eyes of his – what others describe as 'unsettling', while Gyda herself has only ever thought of them as beautiful – then shifts his attention to the fjord ahead.

They sit in silence for what seems an age before Ragnar finally speaks.

"I remember when you were small. How you were so lively you could run as swiftly as the wind. You were like quick-silver." He huffs a small laugh and Gyda feels her mouth tug into an answering smile, regardless of her muddled emotions. "But then, before I knew it, you stopped running here and there and everywhere, and you became still."

His gaze is on her once more. Penetrating. "Your stillness is a comfort to me, Gyda. Like the sight of land from a storm-battered ship."

Gyda lets him draw her close, a lump forming in her throat as he kisses her brow.

"They say that a man must love his sons more," murmurs Ragnar against her skin, his fingers idly combing her hair. "But a man can be jealous of his sons, and his daughter can always be the light in his life."

Gyda feels relief wash over her and cannot hold back her tears. She sobs against the rough cloth of her father's tunic and he holds her, rubbing her back and whispering words of comfort.

In the weeks since Ubbe's birth, she has felt increasingly misplaced; an outsider in amongst her father's new family. But now she knows better. Now she knows that she is treasured.

Gyda eventually pulls away, meeting her father's eyes to find them as perceptible as ever.

"No matter how many sons I have," says Ragnar, gently cradling Gyda's face between his work-roughened hands, "you will always be precious to me. Understand?"

"I understand, father."

"Good." He presses another kiss to her brow before rising to his feet. "Do not stay out too long, eh?" Gyda pretends to be annoyed when he ruffles her hair, but looks on fondly as her father walks away.

. . .

A/N2: Sorry for the delay, everyone. I've been super busy with schoolwork lately, and this will likely continue into the foreseeable future, so expect the irregular updates to continue.


	5. Shieldmaiden

. . .

Part V: Shieldmaiden

. . .

Gyda exits the hall and wonders where she can go; where she can flee to that no-one would think to find her. She looks about her with equal parts determination and desperation, and when she sees a pair of men pass on horseback, spears resting against their shoulders and sword hilts gleaming at their hips, she knows precisely the place.

Taking a sharp left at the bottom of the steps, she makes her way around the side of her father's hall and onwards, until she hears the unmistakable clash of sword against sword.

The training yard soon comes into view, its periphery crowded with cheering warriors. Curious, Gyda finds a relatively quiet spot and leans against the fence. What she sees makes her eyes widen.

There's a young woman – dark-haired and fierce – sparring with a much larger man. Gyda holds her breath as he takes a swing, but the woman is fast, slipping beneath his arm before whacking his rump with the flat of her training sword. The onlookers burst into raucous laughter.

"Too slow, Jorund!" cries the woman.

The man – Jorund – spins on his heels, his expression almost petulant. "You slippery little-"

"I think you had better not finish that sentence," says the woman, blocking as Jorund takes another swipe at her. He strikes again, and the woman deflects, her arm visibly quaking under the blow. Gyda bites her lip.

When Jorund swoops in for yet another strike, the woman crouches, swinging one leg out in a wide arc. Apparently not expecting the move, Jorund's feet are swept from under him and he hits the ground with a loud ' _oof_ '. In the next instant, the woman stands over him with the tip of her sword against his throat. He grunts, scowling up at her.

"I let you win."

"Keep telling yourself that if it will make you sleep better at night."

The woman throws her blade aside and straddles Jorund's broad chest. She grips his sandy-coloured braid, guiding his head upwards until their mouth meet. Their kiss is fierce and hungry and makes Gyda's face grow warm.

The woman then rises, waving off the lewd suggestions tossed at her by the crowd. Gyda can't help but stare as she crosses the yard to a nearby water pail and takes a long drink from it.

"Enjoying yourself, little flower?"

Gyda startles at the woman's words, blinking as those dark eyes meet hers.

When Gyda doesn't respond, she continues. "You are the daughter of Lagertha."

It isn't a question, and Gyda senses the woman's approval, even though her face is unreadable.

"I am." Gyda tilts her chin up and receives the hint of a smile.

"A great shieldmaiden, your mother." The woman cocks her head speculatively. "And what of you, Gyda Ragnarsdottir. Did she teach you to fight?"

Gyda averts her gaze, wishing, not for the first time, that her mother had not left her here in Kattegat, leaving her with little more than an heirloom dagger and a handful of ways to defend herself. Eventually, she shakes her head. "Not really."

She feels a calloused finger beneath her chin, urging her to look up. The woman's eyes search her face before, finally, she appears to come to a decision.

"My name is Dagný. You will return here the same time tomorrow."

Gyda grins. "Thank you!"

Dagný makes a dismissive noise, chucking Gyda under the chin. "Off with you now, before you're missed."

If anyone notices the spring in Gyda's step for the remainder of the day, nobody mentions it.


End file.
